As he had the time before, Gareth climbed out first, then formed a step with his hands for Hyacinth to balance upon as she reached up and shut the window. He lowered her down, dropped a quick kiss on her nose, and said, “You need to get home.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I’m already hopelessly compromised.”

“Yes, but I’m the only one who knows.”

Hyacinth thought it rather charming of him to be so concerned for her reputation. After all, it didn’t truly matter if anyone caught them or not; she had lain with him, and she must marry him. A woman of her birth could do no less. Good heavens, there could be a baby, and even if not, she was no longer a virgin.

But she had known what she was doing when she had given herself to him. She knew the ramifications.

Together they crept down the alley to Dover Street. It was imperative, Hyacinth realized, that they move quickly. The Mottram Ball was notorious for running into the wee hours of the morning, but they’d got a late start on their search, and surely everyone would be heading home soon. There would be carriages on the streets of Mayfair, which meant that she and Gareth needed to render themselves as invisible as possible.

Hyacinth’s joking aside, she didn’t wish to be caught out in the middle of the night. It was true that their marriage was now an inevitability, but all the same, she didn’t particularly relish the thought of being the subject of scurrilous gossip.

“Wait here,” Gareth said, barring her from moving forward with his arm. Hyacinth remained in the shadows as he stepped onto Dover Street, edging as close to the corner as she dared while he made sure there was no one about. After a few seconds she saw Gareth’s hand, reaching back and making a scooping, “come along” gesture.

She stepped out onto Dover Street, but she was there barely a second before she heard Gareth’s sharply in-drawn breath and felt herself being shoved back into the shadows.

Flattening herself against the back wall of the corner building, she clutched Miss Davenport-and within it, Isabella’s clue-to her chest as she waited for Gareth to appear by her side.

And then she heard it.

Just one word. In his father’s voice.

“You.”

Gareth had barely a second to react. He didn’t know how it had happened, didn’t know where the baron had suddenly appeared from, but somehow he managed to push Hyacinth back into the alley in the very second before he was caught.

“Greetings,” he said, in his jauntiest voice, stepping forward so as to put as much distance between him and the alley as possible.

His father was already striding over, his face visibly angry, even in the dim light of the night. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Gareth shrugged, the same expression that had infuriated his father so many times before. Except this time he wasn’t trying to provoke, he was just trying to keep the baron’s attention firmly fixed. “Just making my way home,” he said, with deliberate nonchalance.

His father’s eyes were suspicious. “You’re a bit far afield.”

“I like to stop by and inspect my inheritance every now and then,” Gareth said, his smile terribly bland. “Just to make sure you haven’t burned the place down.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have.”

The baron held silent for a moment, then said, “You weren’t at the ball tonight.”

Gareth wasn’t sure how best to respond, so he just lifted his brows ever so slightly and kept his expression even.

“Miss Bridgerton wasn’t there, either.”

“Wasn’t she?” Gareth asked mildly, hoping the lady in question possessed sufficient self-restraint not to leap out from the alley, yelling, “Yes, I was!”

“Just at the beginning,” the baron admitted. “She left rather early.”

Gareth shrugged again. “It’s a woman’s prerogative.”

“To change her mind?” The baron’s lips formed the tiniest of curves, and his eyes were mocking. “You had better hope she’s a bit more steadfast than that.”

Gareth gave him a cold stare. Somehow, amazingly, he still felt in control. Or at the very least, like the adult he liked to think that he was. He felt no childish desire to lash out, or to say something for the sole purpose of infuriating him. He’d spent half his life trying to impress the man, and the other half trying to aggravate him. But now…finally…all he wanted was to be rid of him.

He didn’t quite feel the nothing he had wished for, but it was damned close.

Maybe, just maybe, it was because he’d finally found someone else to fill the void.

“You certainly didn’t waste any time with her,” the baron said, his voice snide.

“A gentleman must marry,” Gareth said. It wasn’t exactly the statement he wished to say in front of Hyacinth, but it was far more important to keep up the ruse with his father than it was to feed whatever need she might feel for romantic speech.

“Yes,” the baron murmured. “A gentleman must.”

Gareth’s skin began to prickle. He knew what his father was hinting at, and even though he’d already compromised Hyacinth, he’d rather she didn’t learn the truth of his birth until after the wedding. It would simply be easier that way, and maybe…

Well, maybe she’d never learn the truth at all. It seemed unlikely, between his father’s venom and Isabella’s diary, but stranger things had happened.

He needed to leave. Now. “I have to go,” he said brusquely.

The baron’s mouth curved into an unpleasant smile. “Yes, yes,” he said mockingly. “You’ll need to tidy yourself up before you go off to lick Miss Bridgerton’s feet tomorrow.”

Gareth spoke between his teeth. “Get out of my way.”

But the baron wasn’t done. “What I wonder is…how did you get her to say yes?”

A red haze began to wash over Gareth’s eyes. “I said-”

“Did you seduce her?” his father laughingly asked. “Make sure she couldn’t say no, even if-”

Gareth hadn’t meant to do it. He’d meant to maintain his calm, and he would have managed it if the baron had kept his insults to him. But when he mentioned Hyacinth…

His fury took over, and the next thing he knew, he had his father pinned against the wall. “Do not,” he warned, barely recognizing his own voice, “speak to me of her again.”

“You would make the mistake of attempting to kill me here, on a public street?” The baron was gasping, but even so, his voice maintained an impressive degree of hatred.

“It’s tempting.”

“Ah, but you’d lose the title. And then where would you be? Oh yes,” he said, practically choking on his words now, “at the end of a hangman’s rope.”

Gareth loosened his grip. Not because of his father’s words, but because he was finally regaining his hold on his emotions. Hyacinth was listening, he reminded himself. She was right around the corner. He could not do something he might later regret.

“I knew you’d do it,” his father said, just when Gareth had let go and turned to leave.

Damn. He always knew what to say, exactly which button to push to keep Gareth from doing the right thing.

“Do what?” Gareth asked, frozen in his tracks.

“Ask her to marry you.”

Gareth turned slowly around. His father was grinning, supremely pleased with himself. It was a sight that made Gareth’s blood run cold.

“You’re so predictable,” the baron said, cocking his head just an inch or so to the side. It was a gesture Gareth had seen a hundred times before, maybe a thousand. It was patronizing and it was contemptuous, and it always managed to make Gareth feel like he was a boy again, working so hard for his father’s approval.

And failing every time.

“One word from me,” the baron said, chuckling to himself. “Just one word from me.”

Gareth chose his words very carefully. He had an audience. He had to remember that. And so, when he spoke, all he said was, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

And his father erupted with laughter. He threw back his head and roared, showing a degree of mirth that shocked Gareth into silence.

“Oh, come now,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I told you you couldn’t win her, and look what you did.”

Gareth’s chest began to feel very, very tight. What was his father saying? That he’d wanted him to marry Hyacinth?

“You went right out and asked her to marry you,” the baron continued. “How long did that take? A day? Two? No more than a week, I’m sure.”

“My proposal to Miss Bridgerton had nothing to do with you,” Gareth said icily.

“Oh, please,” the baron said, with utter disdain. “Everything you do is because of me. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

Gareth stared at him in horror. Was it true? Was it even a little bit true?

“Well, I do believe I shall take myself off to bed,” the baron said, with an affected sigh. “It’s been…entertaining, don’t you think?”

Gareth didn’t know what to think.

“Oh, and before you marry Miss Bridgerton,” the baron said, tossing the remark over his shoulder as he placed his foot on the first step up to Clair House’s front door, “you might want to see about clearing up your other betrothal.”

“What?”

The baron smiled silkily. “Didn’t you know? You’re still betrothed to poor little Mary Winthrop. She never did marry anyone else.”

“That can’t be legal.”

“Oh, I assure you it is.” The baron leaned slightly forward. “I made sure of it.”

Gareth just stood there, his mouth slack, his arms hanging limply at his sides. If his father had yanked down the moon and clocked him on the head with it he couldn’t have been more stunned.

“I’ll see you at the wedding,” the baron called out. “Oh, silly me. Which wedding?” He laughed, taking a few more steps up toward the front door. “Do let me know, once you sort it all out.” He gave a little wave, obviously pleased with himself, and slipped inside the house.